


Clubbing with Dad

by presidenthomewrecker



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Inaccurate Depiction of Head Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidenthomewrecker/pseuds/presidenthomewrecker
Summary: Facing down Andrew Ryan, Jack is able to break through his mental conditioning and save Andrew Ryan's life.The only problem is, now suffering a severe concussion, Ryan doesn't remember what he's done. Or who he is.





	Clubbing with Dad

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this was 1000% inspired by a Bioshock shitpost that my friends and I couldn't stop laughing about. It had to be done.

“I am Andrew Ryan… where am I?”

These are the first words Jack hears when he finally comes to.

He’s on a cot, stiff and unyielding under his back. Bandages line his forearms, and he winces at the thought of the bullets piercing his skin.

Everything starts flooding back. Atlas. Fontaine. His lineage. Ryan.

Pain splits his forehead. There are two parts of his brain right now, one that refuses to let go of the glossy memories he was trained to think were real, and the other that scrambles desperately to hold onto the heartbreaking truths.

It happened all too quickly.

One second, Jack was moving, an unknown force puppeting his body to supply the second blow to Ryan’s skull, and the next, he was almost a free man. A string of free will pulled at his mind, a combination of every shred of horror and righteous anger, and his body jolted accordingly.

The club had sailed over Ryan’s head, giving Jack just enough time to come to his senses.

It felt like his brain was being torn in half, and maybe it was, but the pain was so severe that it brought him to his knees. He dropped the club to clutch at his forehead, and the next thing he knew, an affectionate hand was resting on his shoulder.

 “Hello there.” Andrew Ryan said, sounding so unlike his usual haughty self that Jack barely recognized him.

By the time Jack had opened his mouth to respond, a flock of Security Bots had already descended and a Little Sister had popped out of a vent to bring them to safety. Jack took two bullets to the shoulder before the pain had forced him unconscious.

His radio crackles to life. “Good morning. Glad to see you’re awake.”

He recognizes that voice, even if his brain takes a few seconds to register it. Tenenbaum. She has to be nearby, if she noticed he was awake that quickly. He moves to sit up, only o be paralyzed by a fresh wave of blinding pain.

“Ah, perhaps it is best if you do not move. You will only hurt yourself. Little Masha will be coming to you shortly.”

The light smacking of bare feet against concrete trails up to his right side, and sure enough, he turns his head to see a little girl in a filthy dress beside him.

She studies his with large eyes. Blue. Was this one of the Little Sisters he rescued? He vaguely remembers the name Masha, but he can’t place where. He offers her a strained smile.

In her hands is a first aid kit, which she sets beside him and opens. The contents rattle. Thankfully, she ignores the syringe in favor of fresh gauze, which she carefully secures over the bullet wound in his shoulder.

Jack watches her, forcing himself to be conscious of his injuries. A Big Daddy doll sits tucked into the crook of his elbow. The girls have been caring for him.

Masha leans back, looking very satisfied in her work. Her grin breaks through the sallowness of her face, thin from hunger and smudged with dirt.

“All better!” she announces. She reaches for the Big Daddy doll, adjusting it so its arms are draped over Jack’s forearm, and scampers back over to her group of friends. It’s the first time Jack notices the ring of little girls in the corner, idly drawing on the concrete floor with chalk.

His radio crackles again. “How are you feeling?” Tenenbaum asks.

Jack focuses his bleary gaze in the direction of Tenenbaum’s voice. Her silhouette is stretched across a translucent screen. Smoke curls from her fingertips. “Ryan?”

“He is with me,” she says, quelling his fears before they can consume him. “For both my safety and yours. I do not yet know how effective your deconditioning was.”

“Then why keep me out here with them?” Another little girl pads over and lifts up a tattered piece of paper with the grime colored over in pink. She holds it for a moment, ensuring he’s really had time to look at it, before placing it at his bedside and returning back to her friends.

He can practically hear her cracking a smile. “It was a safe bet. You have always been gentle with my girls.” She pauses to take a drag from her cigarette. The radio crackles from the noise. She asks again. “How are you feeling?”

Jack’s answer is a single prolonged groan.

“Yes, yes. Very common.” There’s a pause. A beat. He can feel Tenenbaum’s eyes boring into him through the screen. “Would you kindly stand?”

Jack tenses, waiting for the moment of resistance. He remembers the pain in Ryan’s office, how his body worked to physically harm him when he started to push back. It started in his head, draining down to the rest of his body like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Nothing comes.

He stays where he is, his breathing shallow. The air crowds around him, almost begging him to hyperventilate. But still, his body does not move.

Tenenbaum sighs, her voice tingeing on relief. “Wonderful.” Her head abruptly turns. “And Ryan once again joins the living.”

Off to her left, a masculine figure rises from a cot. Even sitting up is a challenge for him; Jack sees how he wobbles.

Tenenbaum steps forward, so that he may better see her face. “Do you remember me, Ryan?”

“Of course!” The cheeriness from earlier still lingers in his tone. Ryan pauses, letting the words hang before finally admitting, “no.”

Tenenbaum sighs, and Jack can feel the ghost of a smile that crosses her features. “I am Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum. I worked for Fontaine when the city was new. I have done many bad things in my life.”

“I am Andrew Ryan!” Andrew Ryan answers. He pauses for a moment. “Who are you?”

“I am Brigid Tenenbaum,” she says, repeating herself with a patience that can only be cultivated from dealing exclusively with grade schoolers.

“I am Andrew Ryan!”

Tenenbaum shakes her head and turns deliberately toward Jack. “He is suffering from a mild concussion. There is no risk of him dying, but who knows if he will regain his memories…”

Ryan moves to climb off the bed, though thankfully he stops when Tenenbaum places a hand on his shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”

“Jack Wynand. He is a friend to me and to the Little Sisters. He is also your son.”

“I don’t remember having a son.” Andrew Ryan says. “I also don’t remember what I was doing…”

“Jack,” Tenenbaum says, turning her attention back to him, “how does the sound of his voice make you feel? I notice no twitching in your muscles.”

“I’m okay,” he grunts. Numbness washes over him, like a drug he doesn’t remember getting has finally gotten into his system.

“That is good to hear.” Tenenbaum says, but her voice remains unsure. Ryan has retired back to bed, most likely asleep from his lack of commentary. “Ryan is not a bad man, but he is a foolish man. All he wanted was to avoid paying property taxes and made a hellscape of capitalism in the process.”

“It happens.” Jack mumbles. He’s in fear of going under again, so he makes it a point of sitting up.

Tenenbaum doesn’t object, so he must not be in that bad of shape. “I undid your mental conditioning as best I could, but it is not complete. Go to Dr. Suchong’s apartment. He will have a cure.”

Another little girl bounds up to him, her left cheek smeared with filth and chalk, and takes his hand. “This way, mister.”

He hesitates, casting a desperate look back to Tenenbaum. “Ryan…” he says, even if he has no idea what he’d do. Take Ryan with him? Yeah, he’s sure a capitalist with a head injury will do great up against a legion of Splicers.

Tenenbaum holds up her hand to stop him. “He may stay here. He is of no harm to my little ones now.”

With her patience depleted, his escort tugs insistently on his index finger until he has no choice but to follow. At a loss of what else to do, he offers an awkward wave to Tenenbaum as she leads him to an archway that leads to graffitied sewer.

His radio crackles to life for only a few seconds. “Good luck.”

The door slams shut behind him, leaving the only open path to the heart of Apollo Square.

**Author's Note:**

> btw i've got a [tumblr](http://president-homewrecker.tumblr.com/post/170243158376/hey-guys-i-have-a-really-really-awesomely) if you're interested


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